


Second Guess

by Tat_Tat



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tat_Tat/pseuds/Tat_Tat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you have something and realize it's what you always wanted only to have it leave you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is old. I wrote this before Unwound Future was released so yes. . . This is time travel fic involving Future Luke.

The conversations at night he held with himself always began with annoyance. They ended with lies. The boy should already be asleep. Save for the occasional mystery, the boy was always sent to bed an hour earlier than his mentor went to bed. The boy shouldn't be awake. His older self didn't want him barging across his path. 

True, the Professor could lock his door, but Luke knew the man wouldn't ignore his young apprentice's urgent knock, no matter how trivial the reason for interupting. 

Luke realized that yes, it _was_ too good to be true when the man had said in reaction to Luke's request, “You may come to my room.”

He _knew_ Luke too well. He was sure that the past version of himself would stall him. They had both noted the nasty looks Little Luke gave his future self. Layton had once commented under his breath that the child had become more demanding since the other had arrived. He said this while running a hand through his hair, as if expecting gray strands to catch between his fingers. 

Tonight's conversation began in annoyance. It continued into bribery...

“I'll do anything for you. Just please go to bed,” Luke begged of his younger self.

The boy looked doe-ishly at him. A grin shattered his innocent expression. “Anything? You must be desperate.”

“That's not the point!” the other fumed. “I'll do anything, okay--” he paused, realizing a flaw in his plans, and added: “except I won't stop my own escapades into Mr. Layton's room.” It was hard to call his mentor by such a formal name, but he was bent on disguising himself from Little Luke-- even if the Professor said they were _obvious_.

“No.”

“No,” Luke muttered under his breath and racked his brain, raked his hand through his hair and pulled at the ends. “You have to want something. Think.”

“I don't need material things. I just want the Professor's approval,” the boy huffed.

“Heh. And you think the professor will think you're a mature young man if you sleep with him at the slightest fright? Or if you disregard his rules? He sends you to bed for your well-being you know.”

“I know, but--”

“If you knew, then that's worse.” Luke hid his grin as the boy scuffed his heel against the floor and clutched his teddy bear tighter, suddenly under the thumb of the older boy's reasoning.

“Look.” He kneeled to his younger self's level and held him by the shoulders, acting out concern. “I'll fetch you a glass of milk and tuck you in.”

“I want a story too.” 

“I'll even read a story to you. About baseball.”

Luke stood up and led the boy to his room, his fingers on his back as they walked. On his way towards the kitchen, Luke glanced towards Layton's room, which had the door cracked open. He hoped, prayed, begged that this would settle the youth down. Milk sloshed on the floor on their trek back, When he arrived back in the familiar baby-blue room, he shifted back into his kind, calm demeanor. He set the cup in Little Luke's hands and sat in the chair next to the bed. On the nightstand was a book already picked out. He read until the boy fell asleep, positioned awkwardly against the headboard, head against his shoulder and the empty glass cupped loosely in his hands.

Luke picked up the cup and pulled the covers over his shoulders. Tempted as he was to shift the kid into a more comfortable position, he refrained, worried that he would wake himself.

He forgot to clean up the spilled milk, his immediate attention on Layton. He was still holding the glass as he knocked on the door.

“...Luke?” The reply was groggy.

“Professor, it's me.” 

Silence fell in the dark room. When the professor spoke, there was clarity in his voice. He was wide awake, prepared to dodge his full-grown apprentice's adavance. “Luke, it's late.”

Luke wouldn't allow him to debate. He set the glass on the bookshelf on the way in and invited himself onto the bed. Before the man could say another word, he grabbed him by the front of his pajama shirt and kissed him.

“Luke,” Hershel protested against his mouth.

“I've thought it over, I promise,” Luke said, assuming his mentor's thoughts. “In fact, I thought about it constantly when I first realized it.”

“Is that so?” Layton tested.

“It is,” Luke said, grabbing the man and rolling him on top of him. “In fact, I denied it for the longest time before I thought it over.” He gasped, pleasantly shocked by the professor's lips against his jugular, and then teeth caught on his ear. 

“This is what you want?” Layton whispered, serious, still hesitant despite his previous actions.

“Please!” Luke groaned in frustration. This time he was interrupted; the vibrations of his annoyance echoed against the older man's mouth.

Neither had any qualms about the other being undressed, or hands being places they shouldn't be in public. Luke raised himself to Layton's touch, and the man in turn sank into his. The room, normally so drafty, was suddenly humid, and Luke's head was spinning. So much he didn't notice when he was spun around physically, his stomach on the bed and Layton hard against his back.

One finger pressed into him.

“Don't tease me-- ah f--” His voice ellipsed a curse. 

When three weren't enough, Luke accused him of teasing again. “I can feel you against me. It's driving me nuts.”

“Patience.”

“You like doing this.” Luke pinned him with the words. Layton's face lowered and subconsciously he reached for his absent top hat.

Noting that his quip had somewhat ruined the moment, Luke raised his hips and rolled his behind against Layton's manhood. That provocation was enough to get what he wanted. He fell flat on the bed, his approval muffled; Layton's own rang in his ears.

The bed creaking and his mentor's groans were the only sounds he could fathom. If his head was spinning before, it was an absolute blank now. 

Or, it _was_ until something crossed his thoughts. He blinked out of his euphoria. The pleasure was still there, but there was the sickest feeling in his stomach. He wasn't disgusted to be doing this with Layton but he was wondering _why_ they were like this. He didn't understand. He had thought it over and over his attraction and yet--

His mentor came.

_Guess I wasn't so sure after all, Professor,_ he thought painfully as the man pulled out of him and turned his face to kiss him.

God. Even kissing him suddenly didn't feel _right_. Still, he returned the affection.

X

Little Luke dreamed about a man's fingertips nudgeing the back of his shoulders and the gentle countertenor reading aloud- then whispering in his ear.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning draft woke Luke briefly. He opened his eyes, then glared daggers at the sun and wrapped the covers tighter around him. As he curled up, he realized the larger, warmer form against him and settled into it, only to blink, grow wide-eyed and sit up.

He looked around the room for his discarded pajamas, then thought about the man's feelings. Uncomfortably he lay back down, under the covers. His mentor's arms snaked around him and drew him closer.

“Hah,” he sighed in his ear. A flush crossed Luke's cheeks as the man's breath fell on the nape of his neck. It felt vaguely uncomfortable to feel a pique of arousal from Layton. 

Luke closed his eyes. He had _wanted_ this. He had dreamed about it every night-- or thought he had. He inwardly shook his head. No, he dreamed about someone else. It was really fuzzy what this person looked like, but he distinctly remembered the person's voice and the way his stomach flipped when they merely brushed fingers. 

Luke felt Layton hold him and he chose to think about the faded person in his memories a little more. He wondered how old the man was now-- he had been in his late twenties when they met, he thought. Children had a tendency to skew ages, and it had indeed been a long time since then.

The professor's hands moved over his chest, pausing at his abdomen. 

“Good morning,” Luke said, trying to act natural.

“'Morning, my--” Catching himself mid-sentence, he smiled and said instead, “Luke.”

Once again Luke was fumbling. He _wanted_ this. At one point, he thought. He raked his brain for memories he was sure were there, but nothing came up. There was a fragment that came to mind and he latched onto it, only to find nothing. Not even a speck. He began to wonder why he had loved the professor. He was an admirable man; that was a an easy one to figure out, as well as his manner and looks...

_Something is missing._

Luke turned around and kissed Hershel, searching, trying to fill the sudden void in his mind. Their eyes met. Layton's were wide, unaccustomed to this, most especially in the early morning. His gaze softened and once again they were in the position of the night before. Luke reached up, tracing the elder's facial features with his thumb.

“One moment.” Layton moved away and procured a key from his nightstand drawer. From there he locked the door. 

In all his time with the man, this was the first time Luke had ever seen Layton lock his door. It was rarely even closed, which explained why his room was drafty.

“When did it start?” Luke asked.

“Pardon?” He blinked, rejoining him under the covers.

“If it was just to indulge me, you would have left last night at that.”

“When I first met you, I knew who you were.”

“You've told me that enough times.”

“As well, when I saw that you grew up to be a mature, albeit hypersexual gentleman, I became proud of you. And, let's just... leave it at that.”

“Too shy to mention my looks?” Luke teased. He smiled; things were reshaping.

Layton's face burned. “I always considered mentioning appearance as a compliment is somewhat shallow.”

“Always thinking of others.” Luke grinned, and led his hand downwards. “What do you think of _this_?”

Luke closed his eyes and tried again. He had been thinking a lot this morning. Too much. He banished all thought of his childhood dreams, the ones that seemed to construct themselves overnight. He let himself be imprinted, turned this way and that, he played how he should act and react, tugging at the man's brown hair fiercely and pawing at his chest.

“Luke.”

He dazedly opened his eyes. It was like waking up again. “Why did you stop?”

“Are you still sure this is what you want?”

“Why are you asking that again? Didn't last night prove it?” Unlike last night, this time Luke was lying.

“You looked as if you were in pain, my b-- Luke.”

“I'm fine,” Luke pressed. “Just... please be a little more gradual. It hurts when you put it all in at once.” 

“My apologies, I will be more gentle.”

A few minutes later Layton stopped again. In fact, he pulled away and began to redress. 

“I told you not to stop!” Luke shouted. The anger that had manifested since he woke was solely towards himself. Ever brash, he was expressing it when he really didn't want to.

“I asked if you were well. Clearly you are not as comfortable with your decision as you thought, and you never ask me to not desist. Telling me to go slower is nothing but a farce.”

“Same difference!” Luke barked, twisting his lips in annoyance. He jumped out of bed and grabbed Layton. Later he would be shocked by how bold he was.

Layton watched Luke calmly, disapprovingly, while Luke's eyes narrowed and he seethed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, poorly containing his anger and confusion.

“Calm down.”

“How can I?!”

“Only with a calm mind can you discern whatever is troubling you. I am going to take a bath. If you have settled down then, you can talk to me about it.”

Luke let him go. Rather than wait on the bed and mediate as suggested, he left the room for the guest room upstairs.

He threw everything in his suitcase. When it popped back up after he attempted to close it, he tossed things out blindly and tried again. Still, it wouldn't budge. He threw out more, never minding if he needed them, and sat on top of the suitcase as he clasped it shut.

He stormed down the stairs, ignoring Flora as she said good morning, and not turning back to see if the professor had finished his shower.

He was leaving and that was that. Everything was so horribly complicated already and he didn't want to think it out- he tried only to become unnecessarily angrier. The most horrible but pleasant sounding solution was to run away from this problem and try to forget.

“You're leaving already?” a small voice asked.

He looked down at himself, already dressed save for his blue cap, which was held in his tiny hands.

“Something came up.”

Just as he was about to go out the door, Little Luke spoke up again. “You'll come back, right?”

Luke sighed and set his suitcase down. He couldn't leave himself emotionally damaged. He took the hat from the younger's hands and set it on his head while ruffling his hair. “I don't know, but it's okay. You have the professor and he's more reliable than me.”

Their conversations began with annoyance. This time they ended in truth.


	3. Chapter 3

The boy hadn't noticed right away that his face was red since the elder had tousled his already mussy hair. He was relieved (when he did notice) that the young man hadn't teased him.

Relief was short-lived. He found himself reminded of his loss and stared at the empty street. Minutes ago, the last glimpse of the man who made his face change into frightening shades of red had faded from sight.

“You'll come back, right?” He took his hat off and stared at it hopefully, as if the man would come back just to set it on his head again.

Reluctantly he closed the door and walked back to his room, staring at his hat as he walked. He hissed under his breath when he ran into a table and was thankful that there was nothing valuable on it.

With one hand on the doorknob, the Professor's voice stopped him. “Luke?” 

He turned and caught himself gaping. The professor's clothes were on, but he must have been in a hurry. They were wrinkled, his hair was uncombed, and worst of all, his hat was absent.

“Luke, have you seen L-- Benjamin?”

“Um... yes, Professor,” Luke said blankly. “He just left a few minutes ago. I thought you knew. He said something came up.”

An annoyed noise left Layton's mouth. It was a combination of a hiss, a tsk, and maybe a curse word Luke wouldn't hear. He turned around and ran out of the house. Instinctively Luke slapped his hat back on and followed; he gave a rough “good morning” to Flora on the way.

Flora closed the door for them.

They looked everywhere that day: behind bushes, in alleys, even the the inside of the clock tower. Luke wondered why Layton was drawn to these out-of-the-way places. It was oddly disjointed for the logical man. But Luke could tell from his disordered state this morning that Layton was not cognitively calm. 

Today was strange. From the way Luke had felt when Benjamin's fingers brushed against his to the way his mentor was so... alarmed and out of it.

This was not the great Professor Layton he knew: not calm, unkempt, chest heaving, exhausted and trying to withhold tears.

By late afternoon, the search was over. Layton looked at the ground rather than forward. He ran into people and didn't apologize-- normally an automatic function. 

“We'll find him after dinner,” Luke consoled, praying the professor's confused state wouldn't be permanent. Better, that Benjamin turned up at dinner to save them the worry.

The professor didn't say anything, and he didn't leave that night after supper. He simply told Luke and Flora to clean dishes and excused himself to his office. 

“What about Benjamin?” Luke and Flora reminded in unison.

“We can only hope he returns soon.” The tone in his voice, distant and defeated, told them that he didn't expect that to happen either.

X

The door was open a crack. Luke knocked, clutching his hat and teddy bear, and peeking through for a shred of the Layton he knew, the Layton who was confident and positive, the Layton who didn't give up.

“Professor?” He had hesitated to speak, but after several knocks he found he would have to resort to it.

“. . .Luke?” a tired voice answered.

“Um... I can't sleep. Can I sleep with you?”

“You're becoming a bit old for that,” was the slurred answer.

“At least read me a story,” Luke pressed. He was determined to distract the man's mind.

“Go to bed.”

Luke fumed. The professor really _was_ depressed and seemed to have no intention to pull himself out of it or to take Luke's suggestion. The boy stomped into the room and crawled under the covers from the foot of the bed, stopping when he was face-to-face with his mentor.

“You don't think it's your fault that Ben left, do you?”

Hershel sighed, rubbing his brow, then the bridge of his nose. “There is no sense in troubling you too, my boy. Haven't I pulled you into it enough already? You should sleep after that fruitless search.”

“I should, but I can't sleep when you're like this. Please...” Luke wrapped his arms around him, his chin resting on the man's sagged shoulder.

The professor's body sank into his tiny one and he sighed before pushing him away. “I would rather you sleep in your own bed.”

“I refuse!” Luke clenched his fists, hitting his legs like a courtroom gavel. 

“Luke, I am grateful for your consideration, but this is nothing a child should have to understand yet.”  
He thought of placing his hands on the boy's shoulders but refrained. Being in bed with him was unsettling enough.

“I can handle it.”

“I'm not doubting that you can. I'm saying that it would be improper of me to bring you into this.”

“Professor,” Luke began sternly, “running about with your clothes wrinkled is improper.”

“Luke--”

“Not combing your hair is horrid manners. Brushing off others who are trying to help you isn't right... and....and whatever you did to Ben must have been bad too--” He caught himself at the last sentence, too late. It had started as an argument to prove that nothing about today had been right so far, but it ended with him directing his frustration at Layton.

Hershel looked at him blankly and tousled his hair, evening out the belligerence. He found himself running his hands through Luke's hair too long and pulled away as if it burned. “You're right. There's no point in me carrying on like this. Now then, you wanted me to read you a story?”

“You don't have to. I just wanted take your mind off things.”

“Thank you.”

“So, you're okay?” Luke asked cautiously.

“Better than I was.” 

“Professor, can I sleep here?”

He shook his head.

“But Benjamin went into your room and he's older than me.”

Hershel hesitated. Once he'd gotten past the shock of the other being brought up again and the fact that Luke _knew_ some semblance of what had gone on, albeit with innocent notions, he had to explain it. “Benjamin had to speak to me about something privately.”

“That late at night?”

“The young man is peculiar,” Layton defended lamely.

“Mmm.” Luke's brows knit and Layton blinked. Was the boy _glaring_ at him for a moment?

“Promise that you'll get up in the morning.”

For a moment, Layton wondered how Luke knew about the symptoms of depression. But then again, sometimes children were more perceptive of others than adults. After much coaxing, Luke reluctantly left the room. He heard the door shut when he reached the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

He spoke to console the younger Luke, but frankly, Layton didn't know exactly how to pull hiimself together. Well, he _did_ , but he didn't know if he had the willpower to go on, to go day by day with the throbbing guilt that he had not only _lost_ his apprentice, had taken him against his will but that he still craved him. He could still feel Luke under his fingers; he could still hear him laugh and beg and... 

It was Claire all over again.

Worse, he would be thinking about both of them.

And he began to wonder, briefly (because God he was afraid to think about it more than that) if he would be alone forever. If he was incapable of being with someone.

He thought painfully of the slivers of intimacy he'd felt with both Claire and Luke. They had a lot in common, actually. Claire was bright and brisk; in a way she was Layton's first apprentice. He had introduced her to puzzles and watched her flourish. There was a point when she had stumped him once with a puzzle of her own design. He never solved it, not until she was _gone_. 

They had both left him suddenly, sending him on a wild goose chase until he accepted that they were gone, never coming back. That was it. 

He thought heartbreak would be easier on the second go. In his experience, things became easier after multiple tries, but his body felt weak and empty like it had years ago. He was convinced that in the space of one night he had become that college student again, face pressed against a pillow moistened by tears and staring into the dark, wishing for sleep. He Hoped the pain would end. But not too soon; it would be rude to move on too quickly.

X

It was morning again. Despite falling asleep finally at four, he was wide awake at seven. He ended up laying in bed until Luke rapped at his door.

He had promised that everything was going to be all right. He threw the covers off and answered the door, surprised that Luke and Flora were already dressed and pulling him into the kitchen for breakfast. It wasn't until he sat down that he hoped that Flora wasn't the chef this morning.

Two slices of toast and a fourth of a cup of strawberry jam, and two eager faces sat before him.

“Where are your breakfasts?”

“We already ate... sorry.” Flora tugged at her dress. Luke showed no remorse, watching Layton. He took a bite of toast and was relieved to see Luke smile and place his attention elsewhere.

He thanked them for the meal and expressed his gratitude further by washing the dishes and the rest of the kitchen. Despite the fact that they had only made toast, the place was a mess. When he threw debris in the trash can, he caught a glimpse of burnt pancakes, eggs, and other indistinguishable things. He was surprised that he hadn't woken up to the house burning to the ground.

Cleaning up seemed to take his mind off from his depression, only slightly. Thankfully, the children were there to distract him. Their lunches needed to be packed they reminded, knowing their limits in the kitchen, and Luke had misplaced his shoes, and Flora didn't know what ribbon she should wear...

He smiled. He wasn't completely alone, like he had been years ago after losing Claire.

Once the children's things were in order, he prepared himself for his class, ironing his clothes before he took his shower and doing all the things one does in the morning.

His classes, on the other hand, didn't go so well. The atmosphere was full of nostalgia and Claire. His students reminded him of Luke. There were several times where he had to repeat himself; he was mixing up one class with the other.

Like his students, he couldn't wait until he could go home.

Life carried on as usual save for the occasional mystery, which he came to enjoy because it meant being away from the university and its students more than he had before. He focused mostly on being around Flora and Luke, althrough mainly Flora. It itched to be around Luke.

Things seemed like they could pass until he overheard two women while waiting in line at the butcher shop. 

“My boy Tom never visits and my daughter... she's already jumping on a marriage proposal. I should be happy but I don't know how I can do with an empty house.”

He had overlooked the fact that children grew up.


	5. Chapter 5

Luke's cap was ratty. It was faded baby blue and worn, with a hole in the inseam and one loose thread. The reason Layton knew the specific details was because he'd looked at the inside (while Luke was taking a bath) to find out the maker of the hat. He had already intended to buy him a new hat for his birthday. Seeing that it was worse than he'd thought only reinforced the idea.

He was unable to legibly make out the tag-- it was faded and slightly ripped, but Layton decided that maybe as long as it was blue, the boy would be content.

It sat in the cupboard behind the dishes, waiting for the two to finish dinner and cake. Flora meant to come to Luke's birthday party, but she was having complications with her pregnancy (she had married a year ago).

The two were still unaccustomed to the third chair being just a guest chair. Luke grinned mischievously at Flora's usual spot, and then stopped. The professor met his line of sight and didn't have to ask.

“Happy fifteenth, Luke.” He diverted his and the boy's attention to happier things. Not that his sentence helped him any. It only reminded him that Luke was on his way to catching up with Flora-- growing up.

“Thank you, professor.” Luke sucked in air until his stomach was round. Layton teased him and said he looked like Flora. He inwardly berated himself for bringing her up again and was thankful that mention of her didn't stagnate things on Luke's end.

On his own end, however, it did. It was grueling to be alone with just Luke, more so since Luke was shaping up to be more and more like the self Layton had been entangled with. It felt less wrong to admire the strong but subtle curve of his jaw, or the light countertenor with a deeper edge to it. It was easier to admire him intellectually, emotionally-- there wasn't a semblence of lust there.

But he had Luke's mind at his fingertips. He could talk to him. They had fun solving puzzles until bedtime, and they were a fantastic duo solving mysteries. No longer was Luke just the boy following him. They were steadily becoming colleagues.

Still, that couldn't blanket the carnal desire that floated, as much as he hated to think about that time, from years ago when he had had him. He still _loved_ the memory.

He wanted it again. Having Luke as an apprentice wasn't enough. He was greedy for him. It was so unlike him.

“Aren't you going to eat your piece?” Luke broke him from his chain of thought.

“It looks like I won't. I'm fuller than I thought.”

Luke snatched it and took the liberty of eating it himself. If it wasn't the teenager's birthday Layton would have scolded him for eating too many sweets. He stood up and went to the cabinet to retrieve Luke's present. When he returned, he wasn't all too surprised to find that the cake Luke had taken from him was already gone.

He handed the red hatbox and a napkin to Luke. He was less ashamed to see Luke wipe his mouth before lifting the top of the box and picking up the hat delicately.

“Th-thanks. I didn't need a new hat though.”

“Don't be modest, my boy. You deserve it.”

Luke unwillingly took off his hat and stared at it. He didn't remember who, but someone special who was long gone, had touched it once.

Layton took the newer cap, a slightly deeper shade of blue, and he set it on Luke's head. The boy's eyes traveled up wonderously. He gaped and then it was too late.

 

This was the end of him. Layton was sure of it. He had given in and kissed Luke, whose lips were still speckled with vanilla buttercream. Despite that fact, kissing the boy was just like he remembered-- except that this Luke was stiff-lipped and more wide-eyed than he had been before.

Layton pulled away because Luke hadn't. He was stock still and even when Layton's lips had left him, the boy's expression was the same. He was more than a deer in headlights. He was catatonic.

“My apologies,” he said automatically. He winced visibly. What he had done couldn't be forgiven. He had stepped out of his role as a responsible adult and taken advantage of his apprentice. True, he had done that years before, but this Luke wasn't a consenting adult yet. 

This wasn't bad.

It was worse.

“Professor, I never knew--”

“Forget it!”

“...I'm... a little funny that way too,” Luke said slowly, testing the waters. “Only, I-- I never thought you would. I know you've never married, but even so, I never expected it from you.”

Layton wanted to end the conversation. It was the better choice, but he allowed Luke to continue. Luke hadn't freaked out, and so there was a shred of hope that--

No. 

Not matter if it was mutual, it couldn't be. He was three years younger than Luke's father, and teenagers' emotions tended to be fickle. 

Layton told himself Luke's affection was puppy love if there was any. A voice in his head needled that it was love all the same, and puppy love didn't always stay as such. 

But Luke didn't declare that. He clutched his old hat to his chest and excused himself to his room. He stopped at the foot of the stairs. “I don't intend to tell anyone, professor.”

Layton thought that was that. Now that he had been actually rejected by the present Luke, he could go on with his life.

And then weeks later, Luke entered his study and without a word _pounced_ on him. Not literally, but it certainly felt so. He was in Layton's lap, kissing him fiercely, and pulling the man's hand down his pants. 

“Luke, hold on a moment.”

“I can't help it,” Luke whined. “I have these urges. It's not enough to masturbate anymore.”

Hershel carefully removed his hand from Luke's swollen member. “You are doing this on primality alone, and you approached me because I'm the somewhat the same as you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“...Yes,” Luke said, half-guilty.

“Luke--” Layton breathed and hefted the teenager out of his lap. When he was less distracted, he began, in his peeved college professor voice, “I don't care how much you want it. Sex is not a leisure activity.”

“I know, but-- I can't take it! How can you be celibate when you're a man? It has to be impossible-- I'm sure... no.” Luke stopped and looked straight at him. “I _know_ you've succumbed to it too.”

The professor choked. Luke's brow raised.

Checkmate.

“Before you try to deny it, I'll point out the fact. I didn't understand it at the time, but there was a man who insisted on going into your room past bedtime.” Annoyance lay in his pointed tone of voice.

“You can't compare that to what you're asking now, Luke. I was in love with the man you're talking ab--”

“And so am I,” Luke bit out. “But then, you-- you made him leave!”

“I did no such thing. He left on his ow--”

Everything stopped around Layton as he realized the source of the future Luke's sudden dispassion wasn't uncertainty. Adult Luke's attempts to keep his past self in bed would have pushed the boy away. But being rude to himself wasn't a good idea, either. The solution to that problem was kindness. And in that kindness, he had undone himself. He had changed his younger self's affections to... himself.

One would think it would be a relief to have finally solved the problem, but it added to Layton's load. His chest grew heavy and he looked at his apprentice, who was gazing readily and wittily at him. The final piece of the puzzle led him to a conclusion that he had thought of before, but he couldn't bear to give the ultimatum. Until now. Knowing the whole story now, and Luke's chase after him for sexual reasons, made him say the words.

“It is with deep regret that I tell you that you cannot be my apprentice from this night forth.”


	6. Chapter 6

The two didn't know how to _breathe_ around each other. As much as they knew they would miss each other immensely, they were afraid to spend time together.

Layton left notes if there was something he had to address: trivial things like what day Luke would depart, his tickets on top of the note, or if he would please pick up the dry cleaning.

Luke never left notes. Their only interaction in the three weeks was accidental meetings in which Luke would look the other way and leave the house or go up to his room.

On the bright side, Flora's baby was well and by the next month she would be strong enough to pay them a visit. Unanimously, Luke and Layton responded as if nothing exciting had happened at her old house.

Things were foreboding, but aside from that, they were normal. 

It was a week before Luke's departure, and most of his belongings were packed up and waiting at the entranceway. It wasn't just a reminder that the teenager was leaving. The bags made it real, made it so the professor's declaration wasn't just a spontaneous decision.

“Is something wrong?” Luke inquired over the table. They were trying in their last week together to endure the awkwardness.

Layton stopped rubbing his neck. “I must have slept in a weird position last night. My neck and arm have been most unbearably been aching.”

“Ah, I see,” Luke responded plainly and went back to his food. They continued in silence. Luke put his dishes up and as he passed by the professor he raised a brow. The man was clutching his chest... Heartburn, he thought, hading for the door. He stopped, hearing wheezing behind him.

“Professor?” He slowly turned, then jumped, seeing him fall out of his chair, making a monstrous sound. His top hat rolled to Luke's feet.

“Professor?” He ran to him and elevated his upper body. Layton's large finger shakily pointed to the phone hanging on the wall. Luke, disinclined to leave the man, still heeded his request and phoned for an ambulance.

“What are the symptoms?”

“Gosh, he-- I-- He... he was complaining that his arm and neck were hurting and then just FELL.”

“Anything else? Are you the only one in the residence?”

Luke tossed the phone down after he gave the address, despite the operator's insistence he stay on the line. He scooped the professor up and set his head on his lap, grabbing his hand. 

“It's okay, it's okay, it's okay,” Luke repeated. “God, you're sweating. . .”

He dabbed Layton's forehead with his old cap and cursed the doctor for being sluggish when it was really less than five minutes from the hospital.

Gradually, Layton became worse. His breathing grew shallow, and then he fell unconscious. Luke broke into a cold sweat. “Wake up, Professor, wake--”

Luke realized that the one thing Layton wouldn't want to hear in his last moments was his apprentice crying. No, that would worry him, to leave the world with the feeling that Luke couldn't go on without him. Luke squeezed Layton's hand and whispered in his ear, “You're not alone. Please. . .” It took more energy than he thought to make himself sound calm.

“I'm right here.”

X

Luke missed his boat. He tossed the tickets in the trash the morning after he returned from the funeral home. As it turned out, Layton had no family. Luke had made the arrangements with the help of Layton's closest university colleague.

Luke went to bed but didn't sleep; rather, if he had, he hadn't noticed drifting off. The alarm sounded and he could hardly believe it. He felt like he had stared at the ceiling, _crying_ for less than an hour.

Everything felt blank and was a blur. It was dreamlike. He wanted it to be a dream, but how could it have been when the professor _sagged_ in his arms?

The funeral was an ultimatum, just like his luggage in the entranceway. He would have to accept it.

It was... he almost couldn't fathom that a month ago Layton had kissed him, or that after that Luke had pressured him into sex and the argument that ensued. From most recent events he thought, then further back. Years ago, he had comforted the professor... he couldn't remember it clearly, only that he was torn, hating him for driving his crush away, but genuinely caring about his teacher's emotional well being.

It surprised him that he had thought that way as a child.

In time, the will was announced to Luke and Flora. Luke had inherited the house and enough money to support him through college for three years. Flora was given the rest, which was most of Layton's money. Luke smiled slightly. That might have been in case she never married. Not that Flora wasn't wealthy-- the other reason was so she wouldn't have to turn to shutting down St. Mystere.

Luke couldn't live in the house, not now. He asked his parents if he could stay with Flora. They had agreed, saying that after such a shock he needed to be with a longtime friend who was somewhat close in age.

X  
It was just a dream he had. He went back in time and he was with the professor again; what's more, he was reunited with his childhood crush.

It seemed like the perfect idea to make a time machine-- for both those reasons. Luke found that no one was as intellectually stimulating as the professor, and though Luke stalked through the man's address book, none of the men were his crush. It was horribly uncomfortable to have arranged meetings with several older men and _endure_ their company until they realized they weren't wanted and excused themselves. 

He didn't remember the face of the man he pined for, but he knew that he was smart like the professor, only a bit more showy, wicked, and-- Luke's face fell. He began to remember several other things about the man's actions too: being locked in the closet, being tied up, the way he look at him with disdain. The man _had_ treated him kindly once-- _once_ \-- but it was a farce just so he could sleep with the professor.

“That guy was a jerk,” he concluded, and decided his plans would be strictly so he could be with Layton again.

X

It gleamed heavily in his palm. Luke stuck his tongue out and flipped it open. The hands of the clock ticked slowly, temptingly.

“What will I say to him?” Luke blanched, adjusting his cap. He had recently begun wearing the professor's present. He licked his lips, and with his forefinger wound the watch carefully. The sound of buzzing gears were as loud as the proverbial pin drop in the room. 

“First a test run--” He declared, his mind floating. If it worked, if he could go back. It sounded like Paradise: talking to the professor again, sharing brain teasers over tea. And then, before he pressed his thumb on the pin, he imagined the professor's words. Luke never planned to tell the man he had died but the professor wasn't a fool and he'd known Luke since he was a child. He would figure it out and be disappointed.

Going back in time for the professor proved one thing about him, something the professor would not be pleased to know: that he had failed to raise Luke properly. The professor didn't train him because they enjoyed each other's company. From the start it had been so Luke could _succeed_ him. 

 

Luke almost regretted smashing his masterpiece with a brick, but he was sure he had made the right decision after he disposed it in the river that night. He wondered why the right decisions always hurt. He stared into the river as it washed away his project of two years.

“If I'd known I was going to do this, I wouldn't have bothered,” he complained. There were a lot of resolutions he was going to make from here on, and the second one after “succeed the professor” was going to be “think about things thoroughly”.

The third resolution was to return to Layton's residence. Luke stuffed his hands in his pockets, already dreading the mess of dust that three years' abandonment had caused.


End file.
